


Building Equality

by dragonwriter24cmf



Series: Fosterlings [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brief Loki Whump, Brotherly Bonding, Foster Siblings, Friendship, Gen, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Kid Loki and Kid Thor (Marvel), Protective Thor (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Instead of beating the Frost Giants and stealing a child, Odin fosters the children of Jotun leaders. Thor grows up with a foster brother named Loki, the Prince of Jotunheim. Loki grows up knowing who he is. Thor grows up determined to see them as equals. And together, they work to forge something that might, someday, become peace and equality among both their peoples. AU, What-if scenario.
Series: Fosterlings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592632
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Building Equality

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to Norse Mythology...and to Marvel.

**Building Equality**

_Years ago, when the Nine Realms were yet in chaos, Odin All-father waged war against the Frost Giants of Jotunheim. And though the Frost Giants were mighty foes, especially their king, Laufey, Odin was mightier still. And so, in time, the Frost Giants were brought to their knees in defeat. And then Odin, in his wisdom and his mercy, declared that there would be peace between the two realms, and the terms of the peace were thus: That the children of the leaders of the Frost Giants, king and councilors, generals and captains and lieutenants, would be brought and fostered among the people of Asgard, that the two races might know each other better, and that the peace of the realms might be assured through the fate of the next generation._

This is a story that Thor hears many times, told to him by his mother, by his nurses and his servants. Sung by the storytellers and song-makers of Asgard. It is one of many that extol Odin’s power and virtue, and he thinks nothing of it, beyond being proud that his father is a wise king and mighty warrior.

Then one day, his mother comes to his rooms, bringing with her a small, slender, dark-haired child with green eyes and a wary expression. She nudges the boy to stand in front of him. “Thor, I’ve brought you a companion. Your father chose him in Jotunheim to bear you company.”

Thor dismisses the question of why he is only meeting the boy now. After all, he isn’t that old, by Asgard’s standards (even if he feels he is quite grown, thank you) and the boy in front of him looks younger than even he. Besides, he has more pressing questions. “Are you a Frost Giant?”

“Jotun.” His mother gently corrects him. He repeats the question.

The boy nods, chin firming up a little. “I am.”

But Frost Giants – Jotun, he reminds himself – are blue with red eyes. “You don’t look like one. Why not?”

The boy twitches thin shoulders. “Because. It’s...easier.”

If he were older, this might not satisfy him. But he’s young, and he remembers doing things like refusing to wear trousers, or not brushing his hair, because it’s easier. So it doesn’t matter. Instead, he asks a different question. “ _Can_ you look like a regular Jotun?”

The boy blinks. “Of course.” He flicks a hand with a frown of concentration, and pale skin and green eyes are replaced by blue skin and red eyes. The temperature drops several degrees. Then the boy flicks his hand again, and his previous appearance returns.

Thor finds that amazing. Before he can ask how it works, however, his mother speaks again. “Thor, you forget your manners.”

Right. His caretakers and his mother have been drilling him in proper manners for a while now, ever since he almost embarrassed his father in the Court. He draws himself up, trying for a regal bearing. “Well met. I am Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard. May I know your name?”

The boy draws himself straighter as well, though he doesn’t quite meet Thor’s eyes. “Good morn, Prince Thor. I am Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim.”

Thor may not remember all the details of his father’s many battles, but he knows the name Laufey. “Your father is the king of the Jotunar.”

Loki looks wary again, but he nods. Thor smiles, delighted with the news and what it means. He’s never met another son of a king before. Or daughter. But he does understand that there is an invisible structure among people called ‘rank’, and that his family occupies some of the highest spots. Which means Loki also does. “Then you are a prince like me.” He slings an arm over Loki’s skinny shoulders, the way he’s seen warriors do in the hall sometimes. “That means we should be friends.”

Loki blinks at him. “Friends.”

“Of course. You are a prince, and Mother and Father say you are to be my companion.” He trips over the long word a bit, but manages. He’s quite proud of himself for that. “So we should be friends. Shield-brothers.” He’s liked the idea of a shield brother ever since he heard the term spoken among warriors in the hall.

Loki blinks at him again, then speaks slowly, as if Thor’s words don’t quite make sense to him. “All right. If that is what you want.”

“It is.” He nods, confident and happy in his decision, then drags Loki off to look at his toy swords and his rooms, leaving his mother smiling behind him.

The next few days are strange. Thor isn’t used to sharing his life with someone else. And Loki is…Loki is not much like Thor at all. He’s small and quiet and he loves books. Thor is big for his age, loud and confident, and he likes to do things. Play warriors. Climb trees. Search out adventures, as much as a boy his age can. Loki likes puzzles and quiet things, where Thor prefers to be more active.

In the normal course of things, Thor knows he wouldn’t choose Loki as a companion. But Loki is his father’s choice, and he has already declared them friends, and so he is determined to make it work.

Loki is not as strong as he is, but he is fast, faster than Thor, and he is agile. And he is smart. And, once he has got used to Thor, he has a streak of mischief and humor about him that Thor can appreciate. And so, in time, they learn to strike a balance with each other.

Thor teaches Loki to fight, and Loki teaches Thor to climb trees like a squirrel, higher than he’s ever been. They teach each other games. Loki reads aloud adventures of Odin, and others, and together they act them out, in mock battles and oaths of brotherhood and great journeys.

As Loki grows into his magic, he uses it in mock fights with Thor. And he uses it to create illusions of dragons and bilgesnipes and other creatures for them to hunt and chase and battle. At first they are rudimentary, hardly more than boxy shapes in odd colors. But Loki is a quick study, and magic comes easily to him, and the illusions improve quickly. Thor never really understands magic, but that doesn’t bother him. He has other talents, and as his mother tells him, everyone should be good at different things, or the world would be boring, and who would make the food, or the clothes, or build and maintain the Golden Hall?

Sometimes, Loki is quiet and shy still. He gives Thor things and brings him food and cleans up their shared quarters. Thor lets him, though he wonders why, when there are servants to do such tasks. But then, perhaps that is something companions and friends do for each other.

He never musters the enthusiasm for cleaning, but he gives Loki gifts and shares his food. Loki seems startled when he does, but he accepts the gestures, and that’s enough to satisfy him.

Sometimes, he coaxes Loki into his Jotun form, and revels in the cold. Sometimes, he convinces Loki to make it snow in their rooms, and they have midnight snowball fights and ice slides, until they are scolded and put to bed. When summer heat gets too high, Loki turns his hands Jotun blue and touches his shoulders, and Thor sighs with appreciation at the cool that permeates his tunic.

He shows his appreciation by dragging Loki to the kitchens and getting the treats he favors, and they enjoy them with laughter in the gardens, kicking their heels in a fountain that is sometimes cooler than it should be.

It is a good friendship, in spite of their differences, and by the time a year has passed, Thor would not trade Loki for anyone else in Asgard. In his mind, they are shield-brothers in truth, and never mind that Loki is a Jotun, prince of another realm, or quiet and magical instead of being loud and boisterous and physical.

Time passes, slow and comfortable, until the time comes for Thor to begin his schooling with the other noble children of Asgard. Prince he may be, but some things can not be learned without others. Besides, at some point, he must build his court, find the people who will one day be his advisers and councilors and generals. And when better than when they are all young and still learning of themselves and the roles they might suit?

He wants Loki to be his Chief Adviser, but he knows Loki will have his own realm to rule. Loki is a prince, after all.

He looks forward to it, and even more so when he finds out that Loki, though younger than he, has been approved to attend lessons with him. Not that he’s surprised. Loki is smart. And though he is smaller and lighter, he is quick and agile enough to hold his own in combat training, and Thor has discovered his friend is positively devilish with short blades in his hands. Give Loki a sword and he will struggle, and he despises war-hammers and battle-axes, but give him daggers or short swords (wooden, they aren’t allowed metal yet) and he always scores a touch or two.

The first day of lessons arrives, and Thor joins the other noble children. Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg and Sif and Brunhilde, among others. Fandral is smooth-talking and handsome, Volstagg strong and rough, and Hogun burly, even at his age. Sif carries herself like a boy, like a warrior. Thor likes them. He has much in common with them. Brunhilde too, though she seems to prefer to be alone, rather like Loki, who shies away from introductions and looks uncomfortable.

He lets Loki have his time, knowing his friend and companion is shy, but waves him over when the noon meal comes. He wants to introduce Loki to his new friends, and introduce his new friends to his companion.

It doesn’t go as expected.

Loki trots over obediently enough, and introduces himself politely, but Fandral’s expression turns sour. “Laufeyson? So you’re one of _them_.” The last word is sneered. “We don’t need your sort among us...Lackey.”

Loki stops short in surprise, hurt on his face. Thor throws an arm over his shoulder in defense. “Watch your words.”

The others stare at him in surprise. “But he is...he’s only a servant.”

“A Jotun.” adds Hogun. “A Frost Giant.”

“He isn’t worthy of your company, Prince Thor.” Fandral tries to calm him, and it only makes Thor angrier.

He’s never had much use for princely airs before, not with Loki, not unless he was playing the role of his father, but he draws himself up and looks down his nose (though Volstagg is taller than he).

“Loki is the companion my father chose for me.”

“As your servant. Your armor carrier, most likely. Not a...” Sif pauses, looking uncertain. Or perhaps his scowl has stopped her.

“He is my friend.” Thor glares fiercely. He levels his anger at each of them in turn, and his voice is cold when he speaks, cold as Loki’s hands when blue. “My friend and my shield-brother. And Fandral...” he juts his jaw out and clenches his fist. “You didn’t pay attention. He is Loki _Laufeyson_ . The Prince of Jotunheim. My equal, and therefore, more worthy of my company than _you_.”

“But he’s...”

“I do not _care_.” He spits the last word, then turns on his heel and marches away, taking Loki with him. He liked Hogun and Fandral and the others, but he doesn’t now. And even if he did, he doesn’t like them enough to dismiss Loki from his side.

He promised. They are friends. And he is loyal to his friends. Mother and Father both have taught him of honor, and there is no honor in abandoning Loki.

Loki stays with him, but he is quiet and pale for the rest of the day. When they are dismissed from lessons, Thor tries to interest him in treats and the fountain, and Loki shies away, unhappiness in his thin face and dark hair hiding his eyes.

When Loki enters their shared suite and begins to tidy up and gather his things, like he’s afraid they aren’t allowed in Thor’s space anymore, he’s had enough.

He stops Loki by the simple method of stepping in front of him and clamping hands on his shoulders. “Loki. What’s wrong?”

Loki looks at him with wide, hurting eyes, dark with knowledge that Thor doesn’t understand. Then he looks down, down at the ground. “They are right.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand.

“They are right. I am...I’m your companion, but I’m meant to be...I’m meant to serve you, and teach you about Jotun so you will be stronger than us. But this face...” he gestures to his Asgard-pale skin. “...it’s more comfortable in this place, and then, you were so kind, and you called me friend, and I am small for a Jotun, and too smart and quick, and I couldn’t stand to refuse you...it was deceitful, I know, and I overstepped my place, but...”

He gives Loki a little shake to stop him, hating the words and the sad tone in which Loki speaks, the hurt and helpless tone that pours from him. “Loki.”

Loki stops, but looks at him with wide, aching eyes, wounded by words.

He gives in to youthful impulses and crushes Loki to his side in a rough embrace, as he has seen warriors do with their comrades after a long battle, or a long absence. “You are my friend. You are Jotun, perhaps, but still my friend. My shield-brother. My brother in all but blood, even if we are different races. And you are a prince, even if it is of a realm my father once defeated in battle. Their realm is not Asgard, it is still Jotunheim.” He knows this from stories. “And that means that you are still a prince. So you can’t be a servant. Not to me. Maybe to my father, but he has chosen you to stand with me, not him. So it is my word that counts. And I say we are equals, and friends, no matter what the others may think.” It’s hard to think of these things, to link them into words that make sense and speak them, but Loki is worth the effort.

Loki is stiff in his arm, but finally relaxes into his shoulder. “But Odin All-father might one day...he might command that...he might decide that I am not worthy of you. Of being your friend. He might demand that I...serve.” There is a sniffle and a shiver, and he looks away, unwilling to see if Loki cries. Older boys and warriors do not cry, and he will not embarrass his friend.

Thor thinks about Loki’s words, then huffs. “I will not let him. I will refuse.”

“He is the All-father. He is the king.”

He knows then that Loki will not be convinced by mere words. Which is fine, he is more suited to actions anyway. He eyes the door, thinking of all the things he is still forbidden to do, then tugs Loki toward the door. “Come.”

He thinks of going to the armory, and getting knives to trade, as he has seen some warriors do. But that seems riskier than he needs. Besides, he knows he is not ready for the steel knives. That is for when he and Loki are older, when they are trained enough to be shield-brothers in truth. Instead, he changes direction and goes to the kitchens.

He leaves Loki coaxing sweets from the cooks, while he sneaks into the cellars and fills two drinking horns. Loki has taught him how to sneak, in some of their mischief, and he makes good use of the skills. He rejoins Loki with the horns, convinces the cooks that they are just the juice that children are meant to drink, and takes Loki back to their rooms. Once there, he hands him a horn. “Here.”

Loki opens it, sniffs, and wrinkles his nose. “Thor...this is...”

“It is mead. Odin says I am not to have it until I am a man full grown.” Thor grins, then tilts his head and drinks a gulp out of his horn. It’s sharp and not really pleasant, but he gets it down. He wipes his mouth. “You should try it.”

Loki blinks. “But...why are we...”

“Because Odin says we are not supposed to. But I make my own choices. No...” He considers. “We make our own choices, my friend and I.”

He sees the moment Loki understands that there is more at stake than drinking forbidden mead. He’s quite proud of himself, for being subtle enough to surprise Loki, and for thinking of something Loki did not. Then Loki nods, and takes a drink from his own horn. He appears to like it even less than Thor, but he swallows anyway.

They seal their friendship that night in stolen mead and far too many sweets. Both of them suffer aching stomachs and aching heads, and a scolding from the nurses, then Frigga, then Odin, and a punishment of cleaning the feasting hall to hammer the lesson home. And it does, cleaning up the detritus of warriors who have over-imbibed, but on the whole, Thor considers the consequences to be worth the result.

Loki’s smile is easier, and the shadows are lessened in his eyes.

Fandral and the others apologize a day after their punishment. Thor accepts their apologies with ease and a sigh of relief. Loki accepts graciously, then plays tricks on all of them. They are inclined to be irritated at first, until Loki plays a trick on Thor. An old trick and a transparent one, and he doesn’t have to fall for it, but he pretends to, and laughs afterward.

After that, Fandral dubs Loki the Trickster, and the whole group is easier.

When the hot season comes, Loki shows the others his tricks with his Jotun form, and they come to appreciate cool water and icy touches as much as Thor does, and the tension bleeds even further.

Loki will always be his first and dearest friend, but Thor cannot deny he is glad to have others.

They grow and they learn. Thor does not love lessons, but he attends them, and learns history and tales and songs. He learns math and sciences and proper combat skills.

Loki loves lessons, and as they progress, Thor learns to come to Loki for things he does not understand, and Loki proves a willing and enthusiastic tutor. And this in turn endears him further to the others, for Hogun is not quick with maths, and Fandral has no use for sciences, but Loki makes them bearable with his enthusiasm and his youth. And if Volstagg and Hogun mutter sometimes about him being a weedy book-lover, well, it is all in jest. Loki takes it warily, at first, as though it were an insult, but Thor teaches him to take pride in it, to laugh and come back with witty responses, an armor of words.

He speaks well, better than his age should allow. Fandral laughs and calls him Silvertongue, and Loki takes the name with pride and wears it like a badge of honor.

Combat training is different, for here it is Loki who is at a disadvantage. Small and light and reed-slender, he is not as well equipped for training as Thor and his new friends. Even Sif is better prepared, for being a girl, she can be trained in the ways of the Valkyrie, more suited to her stature.

Fortunately, the warrior who trains them is wise. He insists that all of them will learn all the different styles, but not that they all be proficient in each of them. His wisdom is simple. “How can you know what you’ll be good at, unless you learn something of everything? But not all warriors are suited to the same style. Your job is to learn. Mine is to figure out what I need to teach you, that you will be the best warriors you can be.”

Warming up and physical training is tedious, but Thor does the exercises as he is told, and enjoys the burn of muscles gaining strength and definition. Loki likes it less, but he follows suit. And he does enjoy the speed drills, in which he excels. Thor prefers the weight-lifting, challenging Hogun and Volstagg to impromptu contests of who can lift the most, but he cannot deny that Loki is impressive in his own area. The Jotun prince has a dancer’s grace, and a runner’s speed, and his hands are deft and quick. Likewise, his eyes are keen, and when it comes to targeting drills, his skills match or exceed Thor’s own.

In time, patterns and styles emerge among them. All of them are competent with staves and medium length blades. Thor and Volstagg are most skilled with axes and war-hammers. Fandral favors spear and sword, with shield. Sif favors sword and bow, weapons that either keep her out of range or let her minimize her opponents advantages.

Loki is the surprise, developing a dual-handed dagger style that is, quite frankly, lethal. The instructor is pleased with the diversity, even more so when Loki gets permission to use his growing magical skills in combat and adds it to his arsenal. The others groan about the difficulty it presents, and mutter about ‘sneaky, silver-tongued tricksters’ but Thor relishes the challenge. Loki’s talent is far different from the others who train to be warriors with him. And Thor knows enough of his stories to know there are many in the Nine Realms who can use magic, who might use it in battle. Better to practice with Loki, his friend and shield-brother, than to face it unprepared in battle. Though there has long been peace, and battle seems unlikely, Thor is a warrior at heart. Better to be prepared.

And so the time passes. Thor grows into a broad, solid figure. Loki grows into a wiry, lithe figure, quick and strong. They grow in confidence and skill, a warrior and a sorcerer, and friends still despite their differences. As they grow older, Loki delights more in his mischief, and Thor enjoys the spectacle of the Trickster Prince. Sometimes he helps Loki with his ploys and antics, sometimes he watches, an amused audience.

They’re well into their teen years, on the cusp of adulthood, when Thor meets the rest of the Jotunar his father has claimed as fosterlings. They’re brought to the palace, a group of youths like Loki and himself. Growing up with Loki, Thor has no fear of blue skin and red eyes, no compunction about meeting them. Loki shares his enthusiasm.

Once again, it does not go as either of them anticipate.

The Jotun youths greet Thor’s introduction with reserved courtesy, as they well might when he is the son of the king whose land they reside in, the king who once defeated their people and demanded their fostering. Loki’s introduction, on the other hand, garners looks of surprise and distrust.

Silence reigns, until finally one Jotun steps forward as spokesman. “Laufeyson? Do not insult us. You are no Jotun.”

Loki blinks in surprise. He has long grown used to switching between his forms, and it is not uncommon for him to forget, when preoccupied, which form he wears. He glances at his hands, Asgardian pale, and murmurs a startled “oh.”

A gesture of his hand and he slides effortlessly into his other form, taking on the appearance of a Jotun once more. Looking at him, Thor realizes for the first time that Loki is smaller than his countrymen. He is well built for an Asgardian, but almost – tiny, is the polite word – for a Jotun. Thor wonders if this is an effect of spending his time in Asgardian form, or if Loki was always meant to be smaller than most of his folk.

Red eyes scan Loki’s new form. “Sorcery.”

“Yes.” Loki inclines his head. “This is the form I was born with. The other I adopted when I was brought here to become Prince Thor’s companion.”

A sneer warps the Jotun speaker's features. “An Aesir form and Aesir manners, and you serve as the prince’s lackey.” It looks as if he wants to spit, and only just refrains. “You are no true son of Jotunheim, or of King Laufey.” He turns away, and the rest of the Jotun youths follow.

Loki watches them go, hurt in his eyes, the sting of rejection flooding his posture. Thor winces in sympathy. He slides an arm over Loki’s shoulder, mindful of the cold of his skin. “Come. Do not mind them.”

Loki comes, but he is quiet and thoughtful. Thor ignores it, knowing that silence and thought are Loki’s way. However, once they return to their shared suites – suites instead of rooms as they have grown older – he draws Loki aside. “What troubles you?”

“My countrymen. My foster-kin.”

“Bah. They are...” Thor doesn’t get a chance to continue, for Loki interrupts.

“They are right. How can I be one of them, or a proper prince of my kinfolk? I have spent most of my life in your company.” Loki looks up and sees the shocked hurt in Thor’s eyes, and speaks quickly. “I do not begrudge our friendship, Thor. Never that. Nor do I regret it, and our years as companions. I will never regret having you as my shield-brother. But...I know not my people. My foster-kin were strangers to me today. Their songs, their stories, their customs and culture...these things are strange to me. I do not know them. I do not know who their parents were to my sire, where they would stand in my court in my own country. I do not know their politics or laws. How then can I be a proper member of their group? And how could I serve them as a proper prince, or ever serve as a proper king, if the throne of Jotunheim were one day to be mine?”

Thor does not like the doubt in Loki’s voice, but he cannot deny the sense in it. Odin and Frigga both have been hinting that he ought to spend less time on the practice field and the hunt, and more time in the court, learning from his father. Loki’s father is a realm away, but his people, and the people who might one day be his courtiers, are here. “What will you do?”

Loki blinks. His words are slow and hesitant, as if he does not like them, or fears Thor will reject them. “I think...I think it is time, perhaps past time, that I spent some time among my foster-kin, learning the ways of my people.” He looks at Thor with trepidation. “I know I am meant to be your companion, Thor, but...”

“No, my shield-brother. Do not fret.” Thor smiles. “If this is what you want, and what you need, then this is what you must do. Go among your foster-kin. Learn. Then you can come back and regale me with stories of your people. It will be like our childhood lessons again.” He claps Loki on the shoulder. “Besides, Father says it is time I began to learn of governance from him. It is only sense that you should do the same. We have ever learned apace of each other.”

Loki relaxes. Even smiles. “Do not forget to take notes, so I can explain the long words to you.”

“Aye, I would. If you would read them.”

“You do have wretched penmanship.” Which is not true, Thor knows his writing is fairly neat, but Loki could give the Library scholars a run for their money. Nonetheless, he shoves Loki playfully, and they tussle until dinner.

Loki tells Odin the next morning at court of his intentions. Odin takes it with a smile and a nod, approval in his one eye. The approval strengthens and flows into a small smile when Thor announces his own intentions to join morning court, and some of the audience sessions.

The next day, Thor follows Loki as his shield-brother seeks out the rest of the Jotun.

Acceptance does not come easily for Loki. He has been a stranger among his folk too long, and they regard him with suspicion and dislike. The mildest regard him as fey, strange. The more hostile call him traitor, runt, weakling.

Thor would lose his temper, and probably start cracking skulls. Loki takes it as a challenge. And while challenges such as this would set Thor’s temper to boiling, most likely, Loki thrives on it.

There are physical challenges, tests of strength and skill. Loki is no stranger to them. He returns some nights nursing bruises and cuts, and once limping from an injured knee, but he does not falter.

Nor is he afraid to admit his ignorance, and trade knowledge for knowledge. He seeks out the lessons of his people with an enthusiasm Thor could never match, asking question after question after question, to the point that Thor suspects his foster-kin begin to teach him simply to spare their ears his endless curiosity. In return, he gives of his own knowledge, sorcery and battle, legend and song and story. He learns the language of Jotunar, one syllable at a time (despite having the gift of All-Speak), and it’s writing as well. He learns to play the war drums and enjoy the traditional foods of his people.

He learns the laws and customs of his homeland, and seeks out the laws of Asgard to compare them, a lengthy and dull task that Thor cannot imagine enjoying.

He learns the names of his fellow fosterlings, and the names of their mothers and fathers and siblings. He learns their occupations within the court, and whether each of the fostered youths wishes and intends to follow their parent’s footsteps.

In some ways, Thor pities him his task, so much harder since he did not learn these lessons in his childhood and youth.

The rest of the time, he envies Loki. Loki who loves to learn and flourishes in the pursuit of knowledge. He himself finds the lessons of governance and judgment to be dull, almost stifling. Give him a sword and put him in a sparring ring. It’s so much simpler. Let him lead armies, go on hunts, patrol the lands of Asgard and stand watch on the Bifrost, or even take notes for Hiemdall and his Sight. Laws are deadly dull, and sitting in council and judgment is tedious in the extreme. More than once he nearly embarrasses himself by falling asleep in court.

It’s lucky he promised to take notes for Loki, or he _would_ fall asleep, and Norns only know how Odin would like that.

He still makes time for sparring and riding and sport with his friends, and he makes Loki take time too. And as Loki makes inroads into gaining his foster-kin’s trust, he warns his friends, making sure none of them are surprised or rude when Loki begins integrating his foster-kin with his Asgardian friends.

The first time Loki brings another of the Jotunar along on a hunt – a burly fellow who calls himself Hrolf – the others greet him with cheerful smiles. It is Fandral who says what Thor is thinking. “It’s about time Silvertongue brought someone to join us. Thor’s been the one doing all the work.”

Sif grins easily in response. “Aye. And I thought for sure we’d have to pry him out of the Palace and the Library, so serious has he been with his lessons.”

Volstagg snorts. “As if he will not learn more in this hunt than he could from a stack of books.”

Loki swats playfully at them, long since used to their friendly mockery, and together they leave. Hrolf is awkward in a saddle, but Loki gives him coaching until he is comfortable, and they keep the pace easy. The hunt is not a hurried one – they’ve already made plans to be gone a few days.

They hunt in the mountains where the air is cooler and more comfortable for their Jotun members. Loki spends the entire time in his native form, racing over the snow and learning the Jotun ways of the hunt from his fostering brother. He learns of the heavy bows, and the traps that Jotun use, of their methods of hunting and stalking and killing their prey.

Thor wonders later if it is a sign, how little any of them notice any oddities or differences among themselves at the hunt.

The come home laden with mountain goats and other things, and Loki spells the kills with frost to keep them preserved.

When they return to the Palace, Loki takes an animal and, in what is apparently the custom of Jotunhiem, presents it to Odin, the patriarch of the home, as a token of respect and honor to the liege. He then takes another to the Elder who has been caring for the Jotunar youths in their foster-home, a token of respect to an Elder and a Teacher. The rest of the kills are given to the kitchens, to be prepared in feast, for a hunt well finished.

That night, Jotun and Asgardian alike toast the Trickster Prince, the Silvertongue. Thor and Loki share their first drinks of mead as men, adults by Odin’s reckoning.

After that, Loki’s presence among his people becomes much easier, and even Thor, who has avoided the group to prevent strife, is welcomed. Welcomed as the shield-brother and companion to the prince, just as Loki was welcomed at his side all those years ago.

It is strange, being the stranger among another people. In all honesty, Thor has to wonder how Loki coped with it when he was so young. His time among the Jotunar is...difficult. They do not make him feel unwelcome, not precisely, but he is well aware that their ways are different, that their skin is different. That they are different.

He does not mind, and he enjoys contests of strength or speed with them, for the Jotun are worthy opponents, but he cannot deny the truth, and he is not fool enough to try, whatever Loki might say in jest.

Still, he learns to become comfortable in their presence. Within three years of that first encounter, he and his friends have become accepted, if not precisely welcomed, guests among the Jotun foster-kin.

And then things go awry, because that is the nature of the universe, that no good thing can be built that it’s measure not be taken in some form.

Growing up with Loki, Thor has long since forgotten any fear or distrust he ever had of the Jotunar. Likewise, he has long forgotten any disdain he might have once felt for them, and he knows to his core that this is true of his friends as well. Even Fandral, who recalls his first meeting with Loki with embarrassment whenever it is mentioned.

He has also forgotten that many Asgardians don’t have his experience, and cling still to old prejudice.

It starts, ironically enough, with the gathering for the Feast to celebrate peace in Odin’s reign, the longest lasting peace in history. Thor is waiting for Loki and his friends – those Jotun who have decided to brave the feast in the Main Hall – when a group of lesser nobles comes tromping down the hall, just in time to bump into Loki’s group. The leader of the group bumps into Hrolf and jerks back with a snarl. “Mind where you walk!”

Hrolf looks down. His words are mild, though his tone is less so. “I was. And I did not crash into anything.”

What happens next happens too fast for either Thor or Loki to stop it, though Thor is already moving towards the group, and he can see Loki moving as well. The Asgardian noble, Raggi Bjornson, Thor remembers, lashes out and strikes Hrolf across the face, delivering a low sweep of his foot to bring him crashing to his knees. Under normal circumstances, Hrolf would have withstood both blows easily, but he is unprepared, and thus goes down. The rest of the Jotunar stop, muscles coiling and tensing.

Aggression tinges the air like smoke, tension rising.

Raggi sneers down at Hrolf. “Mind your tongue in the presence of your betters, Jotun.”

Hrolf only looks at him. “Were I in their presence, I would.”

Raggi rears back to strike again, but Loki intercepts his wrist with a lightning fast snatch of his hand. “Enough.”

Raggi snarls. “Who are you to manhandle me thus?”

“I am Loki Laufeyson. Who are you to so abuse my countryman?” Loki’s voice is as impassive as his Jotun eyes, but Thor can read the tension in his shoulders.

Raggi sneers. “I am Raggi Bjornson. My father is a noble of Odin’s court, and I will see you horsewhipped for your rudeness to me.”

“I doubt that. Apologize to Hrolf for your discourtesy.” Loki moves with Raggi when the other makes to step around them. Raggi whips back with another snarl, and Loki reacts with another lightning-quick movement, slapping Raggi across the face and sending him off balance.

Thor gets there, finally, before Raggi can draw a weapon. He steps between the two. “Enough. This is the House of Odin.”

Loki nods to him with stiff courtesy. Raggi pulls himself up. “Prince Thor. This Jotun ruffian disrespected and struck me.”

“Loki Laufeyson is a Prince of his people. And I say this is a matter for Odin to judge.” In truth, Thor could hand out judgment, but law and custom say that this is Odin’s Hall, and so such matters as punishment are Odin’s to decide. Moreover, whatever the technical status of the rest of the Jotun fosterlings, Loki is Odin’s ward and Thor’s shield-brother, which makes handling him Odin’s responsibility.

It also makes his safety in Odin’s Hall a matter for the king, as the laws of Hospitality and Guest-Right decree.

Loki nods, bowing his head in acceptance. “As you say, Prince Thor.” It is strange to hear such formality from his shield-brother, but he knows that it is correct.

He returns the nod. “You will come with me.” He indicates Hrolf and Loki and Raggi. Hrolf bows.

Loki dips his head in agreement, then turns to the others. “Proceed to the dining hall. Hrolf and I will come when this matter has been settled.” The Jotun youths nod, and troop down the hall. Raggi’s group scowls, but reluctantly follows their lead. As do Thor’s friends, who arrive at some point during the entire mess, but have the wisdom not to interfere.

Thor leads them to an antechamber off the main Feasting Hall, then enters. All eyes turn to him, and he winces. He would rather not be the center of such attention, at least not for a matter such as this. Nonetheless, he makes his way to Odin’s side and bows. “Father. Forgive my tardiness...” He’s not really late, the Feast hasn’t started yet, but he knows that dealing with this matter will make them both late, so… “However, a matter has arisen which needs your judgment.”

“You should be capable.” Odin frowns at him.

“Aye. I should. But is a matter of Guest-Right and Hospitality of your Hall, and I thought it best to defer to you, my king.”

Odin’s frown deepens. “And whom does this matter concern?”

“Your ward, Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim, his companion, Hrolf of Jotunheim, and Raggi Bjornson, who is a member of your court.” A minor noble, and of no note, but still a member of Odin’s court.

Odin sighs, but nods. “Bring them before me.”

Thor bows his head in agreement, but winces. He had hoped that the matter would be handled privately, but apparently disturbing the Feast, a feast to celebrate peace, with this quarrel will have repercussions. Such as a public judgment. And possibly sentencing. Which could be troublesome, depending on how matters play out.

Nevertheless, he leaves, and returns with Raggi, Loki and Hrolf in tow. “My king. As you requested.” All three bow.

“Explain.” Odin’s tone his hard and sharp, like the point of his spear. It’s clear to everyone in the hall that he is not pleased.

Raggi, in a breach of manners that makes Thor scowl, jumps in first. “My lord king, my companions and I were on our way to the Feast, when these Jotun ruffians barred our way. I reprimanded that one...” he points to Hrolf. “for his lack of courtesy, and then that one...” he gestures to Loki. “...struck me and had the gall to demand that I apologize for demanding the respect due a noble of your court.”

Thor intercedes before he can continue. “Lord Raggi, your rank is not the highest among this group. It is not your place to speak first.”

Raggi looks affronted, but Odin speaks before anyone else can get a word in. “Prince Thor, it is not your place to intercede.”

Thor nods and backs away. “My apologies.”

Odin nods, then faces Raggi. “My son makes a point, however. Yours is not the highest rank in this hall, that you should speak first without my direct command.” Raggi winces and mutters an apology. Odin turns to the two Jotunar who have thus far remained respectfully quiet. “Loki. Explain.”

Loki dips his head in respect. “King Odin. My foster-companions and I were on our way to the Hall. At an intersection, Lord Raggi and his companions happened to cross our path, and collided with my companion, Hrolf. Lord Raggi berated him, most rudely, to which Hrolf replied, perhaps less circumspectly than might be wise, but most certainly not out of turn, nor with uncalled for discourtesy. Lord Raggi’s response was to strike him across the face and knock him off his feet, demanding an apology. I intervened when he was about to strike my downed countryman in anger. I did request his apology for such an action, and he responded by attempting to ignore me, though I had given my name and he ought to have known my rank, even before Prince Thor intervened and addressed me by it. When I refused to permit his discourtesy, he reacted in anger, and I confess I did also. I delivered one blow, to his face, in return for the two he had struck my companion. It was then that Prince Thor interceded, and commanded that we come before you, that the matter might be settled.”

Thor squashes the smile that wants to escape him, but he cannot help admiring Loki’s poise. And it is true, that Loki makes a far better showing than Raggi, with his courteous words, even deigning to give his opponent’s rank, where Raggi did not even give the courtesy of naming those he accused.

Odin scowls, and turns to Hrolf. “Have you anything further to add?”

Hrolf shakes his head. “I have not, King Odin. Prince Loki’s words are accurate in every respect. Lord Raggi bumped into me, and we did exchange heated words, which led to blows from both he and Prince Loki. And then Prince Thor intervened.”

Odin nods, and his frown deepens. Thor holds his breath.

Raggi is in the wrong, and were his accusers fellow Asgardians, he would be punished accordingly. However, Thor has spent enough time studying politics to know that this is not Odin’s only consideration. Loki and Hrolf are Jotun, and there are those in the court who will not accept if their punishment is less than Raggi’s. Prejudice should not play a part in Odin’s judgment, and yet it must, if he makes a politically expedient decision. And he must, for otherwise he invites rebellion, and though Thor has every confidence in his father’s abilities, rebellion is never a good thing.

Odin rises. The court falls silent, awaiting his judgment.

“Raggi Bjornson, you have violated the Hospitality of my Hall, and caused my ability to protect those under my care to be questioned. For this, I do sentence you to be banished from Hall and Court, and from under my roof for a seven-night, to teach you to curb your tongue.”

“Loki Laufeyson, you act in defense of your kinsman, but your actions were rash and also violated the Hospitality of my Hall. To strike a guest who holds no weapon, regardless the provocation otherwise, is not behavior fitting my ward, nor a Prince. Thus, I declare you banned from this Feast, and that for the next fortnight, you shall seek instruction among the Healers, to learn what the consequences of a too-quick temper might be. Furthermore, you may not undertake warrior's training, and your magics shall be restrained for the same period.”

Thor grimaces, for he knows he would find such a punishment aggravating in the extreme. Loki, however, only bows. “As you command, All-father. However...” he raises his head. “May I ask your intentions for Hrolf? He has committed no such wrong.”

Odin nods, and Thor thinks he sees a flash of approval in his father’s eye. “He does not share your punishment, save that he is banned from this night’s Feast, to stand service to you instead.”

Loki dips his head again. “Then by your leave, King Odin, I shall retire. If it is your will, I shall come to the morning audience, and commence the rest of my sentence in the morning.”

“Well enough.” Odin raps his spear against the stone in dismissal. Loki and Hrolf both offer bows, then turn away, striding down the Hall and out of the main doors. Thor watches them go, wishing he could follow. But he is Prince, and it would not do to show public disagreement of his father’s judgment.

Raggi remains. When Odin’s eye turns to him, he bows quickly. “My king, I understand that I am banished, however...I must ask...that Jotun struck me. Is there to be no further punishment for attacking a noble of Asgard?”

Thor clenches his fist, remembering how Raggi threatened to have Loki whipped. Odin glares impassively, though only a fool would miss the weight of his power, beginning to gather around him. “I have given the punishment I deem fit. Do you intend to challenge me, Raggi Bjornson?” The words hang heavy in the air, like clouds before a storm.

Fool Raggi may be, but not that much of one, much to Thor’s secret displeasure. He shakes his head. “My apologies, my king. I did not mean to be disrespectful. By your will, I will take my leave.” And he does, with far more haste and far less decorum than Loki showed.

Odin resumes his seat, and Thor takes his. It is odd, sitting at the table without Loki nearby. Nonetheless, Thor enjoys the feast and makes conversation with those around him.

He has grown used to Loki’s silver tongue taking up the silences, Loki’s mischievous smile, in his Asgardian guise. Still, he has spent enough mornings on his own in Odin’s court that he is not completely hopeless when discussing matters that are not the hunt or fighting. And if he escapes as soon as is politely acceptable to see how his shield-brother fares – well, it is no one’s business but his own and Odin’s, and his father does not stop him.

He finds Loki in his own rooms. Hrolf is absent, but the remains of a well-filled dinner tray attest to his recent presence, and provide proof that Loki has not gone hungry. Loki looks up from a book he is reading when Thor enters. “Thor. How was the Feast?”

“Poorer for your absence.” Thor drops into a seat. “I wish I could have interceded more for you with Father, but...”

Loki waves it aside. “It is what it is. And better than I feared it might be. Besides, I have long wished to have time with the Healers, to learn their techniques.” A laugh sneaks from his lips, a smirk on his face. “You are much inclined to trouble, and I have no doubt that it will be a necessary lesson for one of us to have.”

“Aye. Better you than I.” Thor agrees willingly enough. After all, he is a warrior. And while he might protest Loki’s insinuation that he seeks out trouble, he can see the wisdom of a companion who has training in healing. Even on an easy hunt or in practice, accidents can happen. And Loki, unlike himself, is adept at the types of magic that lend themselves to healing. Not to mention his love of learning, which will let him retain the information and enjoy acquiring it.

“Quite.” Loki laughs. “It is not so great a punishment, Thor. I may not have attended the Feast, but I ate well enough. The binding of my magic is irksome, but it will pass soon enough.”

“True enough. Still, it will not be the same without you and your clever tricks.”

Loki shrugs. “Someday, we will likely be separated by duty or happenstance. It is well that we learn now. Though I shall enjoy the restriction and separation no more than you.”

Thor says nothing. Loki’s words are truth. They each have their own kingdom that they might one day rule. And if he is king of Asgard, and Loki ascends the throne of Jotunhiem, then they will be separated. Realms apart in fact.

In the end, he claps Loki on the shoulder. “Separated or no, I shall come if you need me, shield-brother.”

Loki smiles, warmth replacing the smirk. “And I you.”

And that is all that needs be said. They sit together a little longer, and then Thor retires to his rooms.

The next day is...strange. Thor takes Loki to the morning Court, and watches as Odin binds him with the restricting cuff. Afterward, they go their separate ways, to their own individual duties. It is almost normal, save that Loki does not meet him that afternoon on the sparring grounds.

Not that afternoon, nor the next, nor the next. Indeed, Loki is rarely even in his own quarters. Of course, Healers must keep odd hours, and Loki is prone to getting lost in his pursuit of knowledge, but that makes it no less uncomfortable.

By the fourth night, Thor decides to undertake a circuit of the city walls rather than remain in his silent, empty chambers. He has long since developed a good rapport with the Palace guards, but he has fewer connections to the warriors who guard the outermost walls of the city. Now is as good a time as any to change that. He informs his father of his new evening occupation and goes, glad to stretch his legs and engage in a useful activity.

And useful it is, even more so than he anticipated. The guards welcome him, and show him, not only their schedules and along the tops of the walls they guard, but the little things about the city that he has never before learned. Out of the way places to have a drink, where to find the best food after a long shift. Tricks for keeping up one’s concentration during the long, dull hours (tricks which help his attentiveness in court as well). Back roads and shortcuts through the city, paths that only guards know. Paths that can be used, not only in the case of an attack, but also an emergency, such as a fire or other accident.

Thor enjoys his time with the guards, and enjoys too, learning the ways of his city. He knows that he will enjoy showing Loki around even more, once his friend’s punishment is over. He resolves, after the third night of such excursions, that he will drag Loki out into the city with him if he must. Though, given Loki’s fondness for learning, he doubts he will have to try very hard.

By the tenth night since the Feast, he has taken to exploring on his own, on his way home. And thank the Norns for that.

He is exploring a section of the city he has never before gone to, the area around the Civil Justice Hall. This is the Hall where disputes deemed too minor to be worth Odin’s time are settled, where those who are not nobles are tried for crimes they commit, or may seek remuneration for misfortunes or accidents that have befallen them. As Prince, Thor has never had reason to set foot in this part of the city, or in the Hall, but the guards have assured him that it is a wise place to know. Disputes are frequent here, and if any one area could be said to be a ‘trouble zone’ this would be it. Well, this and some of the rowdier mead halls, though disputes there rarely involve the city guard.

Fortunately for him, it is quiet. Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until he hears a muffled sound, coming from the Hall itself. Warrior that he is, his instincts go on high alert at once.

He moves closer, employing all the hard-learned stealth Loki has ever drilled into him. The Hall is dark, his first clue that not all is as it should be. Whatever is happening, whoever is there, it cannot be benevolent, nor permitted, or they would have lit the lights.

He listens, hears heavy breathing and a clink of metal. Robbery, perhaps? His blood quickens with the thought of confronting a gang of thieves, and putting his training to a real test. His night adapted eyes seek out signs of movement, finally coming to rest on a shape leaning against one of the columns. A lookout, perhaps?

He takes a moment to think through his options, then calls for the lights. A simple magic than any Asgardian can perform. He snaps them on to full brightness, striding forward. “Who’s there?” His hand is on his weapon, ready to strike. And then...he stops.

The figure leaning against the column in the torchlight is not a lookout. Nor a thief. Instead, it looks like… “Loki?”

The figure stiffens in response, and as his eyes adjust better to the light (Going from darkness to full light was perhaps not his best option), he sees why.

It is Loki, in his Asgardian form, though by the look of it, he was in his Jotun form recently. But this is no casual meeting and it is clear that, however Loki came to be here, it was not of his own free will.

Loki is not leaning against the pillar, as Thor thought. Instead, he is bound to it, wrists encircled with chains that are looped through a torch bracket to keep him upright. The chains are tight enough in his Asgardian form that they must have cut his wrists deeply in his Jotun aspect. His tunic and vest lie in a ragged heap on the floor nearby, leaving his body bared to the waist. His face, Thor sees, is blindfolded, and his back…

His back makes Thor want to call down the lightning, for it bears a dozen or more slashes, clear marks of a whip, lashed into Loki’s flesh with enough force to gouge the skin and leave blood streaking his naked skin. It is treatment that only criminals might deserve, and seeing the results upon Loki’s body makes him furious.

Rage fills him, and he puts it aside, with all the lessons he has learned of self control. Loki cannot see him, and it is clear he is frightened, wary, as well he might be. Fury will not help his friend and self-proclaimed brother now.

He takes his hand from his weapon and moves forward, his steps deliberately heavy. “Loki?”

Loki freezes. “Thor?” His voice is hoarse, as if he has cracked it, crying out.

“Aye. Give me a moment.” Thor reaches up, touches Loki’s shoulder to alert him, then tugs the blindfold gently free. Loki blinks in the light, then looks into his face. “There.”

Loki looks at him, then sags with relief. “Thor. Thank Norns.” He frowns. “But what...”

“I have been meeting the city guards and learning more about the city, while you were in your lessons with the Healers. I heard noise on my way back to the Palace and came to investigate.” Thor eyes the chains. They will be difficult to remove as they are. “Can you stand, if I break these bonds?”

“Yes.” Loki breathes out, then sets his feet and tugs his hands as far apart as he is able. The movement hurts him, from the tightness of his expression, but he only sets his jaw and turns his face away. “Please.”

Thor tugs free the hammer that he carries. It is not Mjolnir, but it will serve. He does not need lightning for this anyway. He takes his stance, gauges the distance and the angle, and strikes.

One strike. Two. Then the third, and the links snap and pull apart, and Loki’s arms fall free. The younger prince staggers but keeps his feet, shaking the links away from his wrists. Thor bites back his snarl of fury, to see that the chains have indeed cut bloody gouges into Loki’s arms.

Loki winces as he moves, but steps over to his clothing. The cloth has been cut, rendering it useless, he glares at it, then at the cuff restricting his powers.

Thor shrugs out of his own outer cloak, and offers it to him. After a moment of hesitation, Loki nods, and Thor drapes the cloth over his shoulders, pretending not to notice how Loki flinches at the touch of it against his wounded back.

Thor gathers the ruined clothing. “Come. I will escort you to the Healers...”

“No.” Loki shakes his head, though he is pale and beginning to tremble. “No. We cannot.”

“Tell me why.” Thor scowls. If it is only Loki’s pride that inhibits him, he will knock his shield-brother out and carry him to the healing halls.

“If word gets out...this attack...it was meant to humiliate me. If you had not come...” Loki pales still further as his words trail off.

Thor has no doubt Loki is still humiliated, and in pain, but he understands. If he had not come, Loki would have remained there until the Civil Court workers arrived in the morning. His beaten body would have been on display for the entire city to see until someone cut him down. And all of Asgard would have known what was done to him. But it did not happen, and he cannot see why might-have-beens should stop his shield-brother from getting proper treatment.

Loki sees his scowl and continues. “If my people had heard that I was treated thus, that this was done to me...if they hear that I have been forced to see the Healers for such an attack on my person...” he shudders. And this time, Thor understands.

If the Jotun fosterlings heard that their prince had been assaulted in such a fashion, they would raise arms. And well they might. And if Odin could not appease them...he and Loki have done much to ease the tensions between Jotunar and Asgardian, but it is an uneasy peace still, and Loki’s current condition would be a more than sufficient spark to ignite the fires of confrontation, and perhaps even conflict. Such shameful treatment would demand a reaction, and would certainly provoke one.

If he were humiliated and abused in such a fashion, he knows well that his friends would stop at nothing to punish the ones responsible, even if they must level the palace around them in pursuit of their goal. He suspects that Hrolf, and likely others among the Jotunar, would have similar reactions to what has been done to Loki. In fact, he rather thinks that Sif, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun would join them in avenging their ‘Silvertongue Trickster’.

He sets that thought aside to contemplate for later. Right now, Loki is injured and in pain, beginning to shake from the reaction of what has happened, and the injuries and indignities inflicted upon his person. If he will not see the healers, he needs to be taken somewhere safe, where his wounds can be tended and he can be made comfortable.

He hooks his hammer back into his belt, then loops one of Loki’s arms around his own shoulders. “Come. Let us go home then.” Loki nods and sags against him, and together they make their way back to the Palace.

Sneaking into the Palace is not easy, but they manage. From there, getting to Loki’s rooms is much easier. Thor eases his brother inside, then goes looking for the medical kit he knows Loki acquired after they began sparring lessons, long ago. He is no Healer, but every warrior knows the basics of battlefield medicine, and that will be sufficient for Loki, at least for now.

If, however, Loki develops an infection, unlikely though it is, then consequences will be damned. He’ll drag Loki to the Healers, unconscious if he must.

He finds the kit and takes it back. Loki has already shrugged off the cloak, and Thor winces to see where the cloth has pulled away the scabs and started the bleeding afresh. Loki sits, breathing deeply, but pain marks clear lines on his face and his hands are clenched tightly together.

Thor sits, takes the basin of warm water he brought, and begins to clean Loki’s torn wrists. Loki blinks and tries to take the cloth from him, but his hands are shaking, and Thor gently brushes his attempt aside. “Let me.”

Loki nods and subsides and sits in silence, offering only quiet corrections as Thor cleans his wounds, puts a healing salve on them, then binds them with soft, clean bandages. Once he is done, Thor takes the kit back to Loki’s bathing chamber, then gathers a soft, loose tunic that he knows is one of Loki’s old favorites and brings it back, slipping it across Loki’s shoulders without a word.

Loki sighs, tension fading from his face as he leans into Thor’s shoulder. It’s a bit surprising, given that Loki rarely seeks contact in such a manner. Then again, with what he has endured in the past hours, Thor has no issue with providing whatever comfort Loki might choose to seek from him. Loki is his brother, in all but blood, and he will have all the care that Thor can give him.

He touches Loki’s shoulder and hair in a soothing gesture. “I am sorry I was not there to prevent what you have suffered this night.”

There is a soft breath from his shield – no, perhaps heart-brother would be a better term – and Loki speaks into his tunic. “You have already eased my suffering well enough. And I am glad you arrived when you did.”

They subside into silence for some moments, before Loki speaks again. “They caught me unawares, struck me from behind. When I came to, I was already blindfolded. I could not see them, but I heard them. One voice I recognized, though at least four spoke, I believe.”

Thor has no doubt that there were four, if Loki says it is so. Nor that they would have assaulted him in the dark, and from the back. The wounds they have left prove them cowards and dishonorable wretches. He focuses instead on a different fact. “Whose voice did you recognize?”

“Bjornson. He spoke to me after...after he had finished with this.” A hand gestures to his torn back. “It was no accident that I was placed where I was. He intended it to be a message to Asgard, of the proper place and treatment of ‘Frost Giant scum’.” The quote is thick with venom.

“He is a fool, and he will be punished for this. I will...” Thor stops at Loki’s head-shake. “You cannot intend to let him get away with this.”

Loki snorts and lifts his head to give him a look that has, in the past, promised merry hell in someone’s life. “Of course not. I will have my repayment of him. But it shall be _my_ vengeance, delivered in a manner of my choosing. And it will be done in a manner such that none may say it is done without honor, and none may doubt the propriety of it.”

“Ah.” This Thor understands. Were he in Loki’s place, he would wish matters so as well. He eyes the glint in Loki’s eye. “You have a plan already, don’t you?”

In spite of his pain, Loki smirks. “Of course.”

Thor smiles back, vindictive pleasure curling through him. Loki’s plans are always worth waiting for. “Tell me of it then, and how I may assist you.”

*****BE*****

Two days later, all is ready. Loki’s plans are in place, the proper people notified, including Thor’s friends, who have been informed. And Hrolf, who took ten minutes of wrestling before he calmed enough to listen to his prince.

Thor steps into the sparring arena. It is not his usual time for training, but it is Raggi Bjornson's. A carefully planned excuse of duties and lessons (as well as the true story) has been given to the Armsmaster. Sif and the others are already there, having arrived earlier, and already partnered with others, as planned.

Thor does his stretches and warm-up exercises, doing his best to remain casual and pretend that excitement does not pump the blood hot through his veins, and that he does not see the Asgardian he currently most despises standing a little ways off.

After he has limbered up, he chooses his practice weapons, shield and blade, then looks around, as if only just realizing that all his usual partners are paired with others. Then he shrugs, and makes his way to where Raggi is practicing forms. “Ah, Raggi Bjornson. Come.”

Raggi blinks. “My prince?”

“Come.” Thor gestures. “I am late, and as my usual opponents are occupied, you will do. I have been in need of a new sparring partner of late anyway. The Armsmaster has said I am in danger of growing too used to my current opponents.” Which is true, as a matter of fact, though Loki thrives on being unpredictable every time he is in the ring.

Raggi frowns. “I fear I am not a good match for you, my prince. My skills...”

“Are perfectly acceptable.” In fact, Thor knows quite well that Raggi’s skills are far inferior to his own, even when he chooses a weapon that is not his preferred hammer. Likewise, he knows the Armsmaster would frown at this pairing, did he not know why Thor had arranged it. “Come. Get your gear, and meet me in the ring.”

Raggi nods, reluctant but unable, or unwilling, to ignore the order of his prince. Thor waits patiently while he selects his weapons and armor, keeping himself limber by running through forms until Raggi arrives.

Finally, the other crosses into the ring. Thor gives him a salute, reluctantly returned, and they fight.

It isn’t much of a fight. Raggi is in no way his equal. In fact, Thor finds more challenge in _not_ thrashing the man into the dirt. As it is, it becomes clear that Raggi is far outmatched. Clear enough that others stop to watch, and he hears the rumbling of unease in the training arena. Time for the second step of Loki’s plan.

He disarms Raggi again, for the third or fourth time, then sets his sword aside and helps him up. “My apologies. It is clear...but I forgot. You have been away from the practice sands for some time, have you not?” Raggi offers him a stiff nod. “You are right, it was unwise of me to demand so much of you. Allow me to make it up to you.” He claps Raggi on the shoulder. “Come. Let me introduce you to my shield-brother. You and he will be far better matched.”

They won’t and he knows it. However, he also knows that Raggi does not. Raggi has never practiced with them before. He does not know whom Thor speaks of, as is clear by his frown and the way his gaze flicks to Fandral and Volstagg.

More importantly, to the best of Thor’s knowledge, Raggi has never seen Loki in his Asgardian guise, or at least never noted him. He wouldn’t have. His sort would never pay attention to Thor’s quiet shadow.And even if, by some quirk of the Norns, he had noticed Loki, he doubts Raggi has the intelligence to connect the green-eyed apparent Asgardian with his alternate Jotun form.

Thor claps him on the shoulder again, then turns to a shadowed corner of the arena, where he knows Loki arrives some minutes ago. “Oi, Silvertongue. Come here.”

Loki strides from the shadows, hair bound back, hands tightening the last buckles of his armor. “Thor? I thought you were already partnered...” He trails off. “Lord Raggi Bjornson?”

“Aye. He was the only one free when I arrived. But his absence of late has made us unevenly matched. I thought, since you have been absent with your own studies, that he might fare better with you.” A blatant lie, but he can already see Raggi’s posture relaxing, as he takes measure of Loki’s thin frame against his own more typical bulk.

“If you think it best...I hadn’t thought to take your partner...” Loki’s reluctance washes away the last of the worry in Raggi’s eyes.

“I’ll wait for one of the others, or for the Armsmaster.” Who is actually watching from another corner, out of the way. None of them would ever dare this scheme without informing the Armsmaster of it, so the man knows quite well what is transpiring. Knows, and has given his approval, provided things do not go too far.

“As you will.” Loki turns away. He starts to select dual knives, his best weapons.

“Loki.” Thor sees Raggi twitch at the name, but this too is part of the plan. Neither of them know if Raggi will confront Loki about his name, but Loki insists it will plant a seed of unease either way. Raggi can’t know that his dual forms are one of the few magics Odin took care not to restrict during his punishment.

He ignores Raggi’s response in favor of continuing his admonishment. “The Armsmaster has warned us about relying solely on one weapon.” In truth, he knows that if Loki fought with his dual blades, it would be far too uneven. Raggi is no match for Loki in any case, but not even the Armsmaster enjoys sparring Loki when he uses knives.

“You’re right.” Loki eyes the weapons rack. “What would you recommend then?”

“Perhaps staves?” Loki is proficient enough with them. Not to mention, the lack of an edge might just keep him from inflicting _too_ much damage.

“I suppose you are right. It has been a while since I practiced with them.” Loki removes a staff of the appropriate height and weight for his build. “Will staves suit you?” That question is directed to Raggi, who has relaxed at Loki’s obvious reluctance. No doubt, he thinks he will fare better since Loki is using a weapon that is not his preference.

Who knows? He might get lucky. Though from the look in Loki’s eye as he limbers up, Thor doubts it.

“I will mediate, if you like.”

“Certainly, if you don’t mind.” Loki nods, as does Raggi.

“Of course I don’t. After all, I’ve nothing else to do at the moment.” Really, he just wants to see Loki’s plan come to fruition up close and personal. He wants to see Loki take his vengeance, even more than he wants to pound Raggi’s face into the dirt himself.

Both men finish preparing, and move to their spots in the ring, staves at the ready. Thor gauges their stances, then drops his hand. “Go!”

Normal fighters would take the time to circle, feel out their opponents defenses, test their reactions, look for tells and weaknesses. It’s the wise strategy, given the versatility of staves, especially in the right hands. It’s clear, from the way he moves, that Raggi is expecting such an approach. But anyone who has ever sparred with Loki knows he is not a conventional fighter.

Loki has built his style around knife fighting, a technique that requires getting inside an enemy’s guard. When Raggi steps in for a more traditional testing thrust Loki – there is no other word for it – pounces. He flings himself forward at an angle, whipping his staff around in a low strike that takes Raggi off his feet and conveniently drops him backward to crack against Loki’s retracting staff on the way down. And on his skull too. Thor bites back a vicious smile. He’d not count on the blow to do much to Raggi’s intelligence (something he thinks minimal at best anyway) but he knows well how much that trick hurts. Loki perfected it against him, after all.

Raggi drops to the ground with a curse of pain, not at all helped by what appears to be a bitten tongue. Loki looks at him with an expression of patented innocence that he’s spent years perfecting through pranks in Asgard’s court. “Ah...sorry. I’m so used to knives. The hamstringing maneuver, you know...” He gives Raggi a hand up. “Again?”

“Indeed.” Raggi looks furious, as Loki predicted. Whether he wonders at the name connection between Thor’s shield-brother and the Jotun he clashed with or not, it’s clear his pride has been wounded. To be taken down by the Prince of Asgard, a noted warrior, is no shame, but it’s clear he has no idea who Loki is, nor how skilled he is. His thoughts are clear in his eyes. Bested by an upstart. Shield-brother to Thor, perhaps, but still…

Arrogant fool.

They return to positions. Thor starts them again. This time, Loki is slower. He dodges a few moves, slipping Raggi’s staff with practiced skill, then comes around him and cracks the staff against his shoulder, executing a twist that takes Raggi off his feet again. Face first into the sand this time.

Raggi rolls up and to his feet, eyes shining with fury. “Again.” This time, he sneers as Loki avoids his first attack. “So quick to run. I wonder how you can serve as a proper shield-brother to Prince Thor, when you cannot stand your ground.”

Thor wants to snarl out a denial of his words. But this, too is something Loki suspected might occur. And he knows what’s coming next. He bites back his fury, and a small twinge of delight.

Loki dodges, then catches Raggi’s next blow. “Perhaps you are right.” And then he attacks.

Slender Loki might be, but he’s quick and efficient when he fights, and he has more strength than his frame might suggest. More than that, he knows how to use his skills against a burlier, stronger opponent. How could he not, after so many years training with Thor and his friends? Not to mention all his time among the Jotun youths, where he is so much smaller than average and still had to prove himself?

What follows in the next minute is brutal proof that Loki is no weakling, no matter his form. Loki pulls none of his strikes, save those that would render the arrogant noble unconscious if they landed. Everything else – there are bruising blows to the fingers, the shins, the forearms. Winding, if not disarming or unbalancing, blows to the core. Light taps that prove he could give debilitating head strikes. Much less gentle strikes to the legs, carefully angled to leave bruises instead of knocking Raggi off his feet.

After a minute, there’s muttering among the other warriors. No one is still pretending to practice, not with such a spectacle.

After a minute and a half, Thor sees the Armsmaster starting over. Loki sees him as well. Seconds later, a vicious chest strike and foot sweep (honestly, it looks more like a low kick than a sweep) put Raggi on the sands again. This time, Loki doesn’t help him up. Instead, he puts a foot on his wrist, pinning the staff, and sets his own staff none too gently at the base of Raggi’s throat. “Do you yield, lordling?”

“It is done, whether he yields or no.” The Armsmaster steps in. “Let him go, Loki.”

Loki complies, stepping back. Raggi climbs to his feet. His eyes smolder, but he forces a wretched smile. “Not bad. Though, perhaps you would not fare so well had I not already matched with Prince Thor.”

“A real warrior does not blame weariness.” That is a quote from the Armsmaster himself. Then Loki smiles, a knife-edge, dragon’s smile. “And in any case, it was not much of an advantage.” he tugs open the collar of his tunic, far enough to reveal the bandages around his torso. “After all, I came to this match injured.”

Realization flares in Raggi’s eyes. “You...”

Loki leans forward, into Raggi’s space, and the grin warps into a snarl. “I am _Loki Laufeyson_. I am the Trickster Prince, the Silvertongue. Did you think I did not know your voice when you accosted me? Beat me? Especially when you had already threatened to see me horsewhipped?”

Raggi jerks back, and the frightened confusion in his eyes is perfect. “But...a Jotun...”

“Ah. Yes.” Loki lifts his hand, and blurs into his Jotun form. “A gift of mine, and one Odin All-father saw fit to leave me use of.” He returns to his Asgardian form.

“Trickery...” Raggi breathes the word.

“No.” Thor shakes his head. “Anyone in court should know of my shield-brother. He has been my companion for many years.”

“Indeed.” That is Fandral. “I have known of Loki since we were children, receiving our first schooling.” His smile is lazy, and cold.

“You...you used this form to deceive me...dishonorable...”

“There is no dishonor on Loki’s part.” The voice is not the Armsmaster’s. Thor turns with everyone else.

Odin stands in the doorway. Hrolf stands at his side, and Thor knows at once what has happened. Hrolf went to Odin. What he told the All-father, and what Odin witnessed for himself is unknown, but still...the king is here.

Odin steps forward, spear striking the ground with each step like a bell. Or an iron war drum. “There is no dishonor on Loki’s part. He fought you on equal footing.”

“But...he used magic...” Raggi flounders, then falls silent.

“The magic to assume his Asgardian form only, which I left him so that he might incur and create no discomfort around him. Had he fought you as a Jotun, I do not doubt he would have left you unconscious and in need of the Healer’s Hall.” Odin’s expression is grave, and Thor is very glad he is not Raggi.

Odin stops at the edge of the ring. “I have been informed as to the events that took place two days ago, and I have confirmed them with Hiemdall. He has told me, as has Hrolf of Jotunheim, that Loki merely sought restitution. Honorable restitution after _you_ , Raggi Bjornson, attacked him and left him bound and wounded in the city.”

Raggi opens his mouth, and Odin’s expression turns thunderous. “Silence. You have assaulted and wounded _my_ ward, and a son of a king of another realm. You are fortunate that I do not kill you myself for the insult to my house.”

Raggi goes white.

Odin doesn’t stop. “Raggi Bjornson, you are hereby banished from my capital, for the length of your days. To approach my home again, particularly while Prince Loki resides within, is to invite execution. Your sentence begins now. You have an hour to be gone from here.”

An hour. No time to gather belongings. He’ll have to send for them. If he runs, he _might_ have time to inform his father. Not that Thor would want to in his place. Banishment for dishonorable conduct? There are few things worse on Asgard. Execution for treason being one of them, but not by much.

“Sire...” Raggi attempts to speak, and Odin’s wrath crackles through the air.

“GO!!!” Odin roars the word, and Raggi bolts, still wearing his practice armor. Not that anyone else would want it, given his disgrace. It would be considered bad luck to wear the armor of a coward, even in practice.

Loki releases his staff and bows to the king. “King Odin, if you wish to punish me for this, I understand...”

Odin eyes the visible bandages. “Report to the healers. And you are banned from the practice arena for another week.”

Loki nods.

Odin watches him a moment longer, then a small smile creases his weathered features. “Well done. You have learned your lesson well.” He touches Loki’s shoulder in a rare gesture of warmth. His eye moves to Thor. “Two princes. One I am proud to call my son. One I would be proud to call my son’s brother.” With that, he leaves.

Loki’s eyes go wide, and Thor has to catch him as he stumbles. “Easy. Come. To the healers, as Father ordered.”

“He said...”

“Aye.” Thor grins. “There’s no going back now...brother.”

“Brother...” Loki smiles. “I suppose we are, in a way.”

“In every way.” In every way but blood.

Blood, which matters not. Not to him, not to his friends, nor to Loki’s.

It has been a long time, but he is reminded of his childish words. _‘You are Loki Laufeyson. A prince like me. My equal.’_

His equal. His brother. He has known it for a long time.

For the first time, however, he thinks Loki might truly believe it too.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted something where Loki grows up knowing who he is, and Thor grows up knowing who and what Loki is, and a look at how that could turn out.


End file.
